Madness
by The Schwa and The Umlaut
Summary: Moriarty is pushing Sherlock to the edge of insanity. Finally giving up Sherlock goes to visit and old doctor friend of John's for help, Hannibal Lecter. They develop an appreciation for each other, so much so that Hannibal decides to help Sherlock out. Meanwhile, Will Graham takes on the case of Richard Brook Based on the concept by Harciczukor /watch?v be8v
1. Chapter 1

Madness

Concept by

Harciczukor

channel/UCTrUqio_YLy5ZSdhy5dmwxA

Written By

The Schwa And The Umlaut

.com

Chapter One: Losing Control

**IMPORTANT**

**This story was inspired by the amazing video by Harciczukor "Madness" which can be seen by clicking the link below**

** watch?v=be8vbdh-E4M&feature=c4-overview&list=UUTrUqio_YLy5ZSdhy5dmwxA**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the concept. Not the characters. Nothing.**

**Rated M for dark themes and violence to come later**

**A/N: So this is my first crossover fic, be gentle. The concept for this came from Harciczukor's video, as you might've guessed, I'd like to say thank you again for giving me permission to write this story. I hope to do it justice. All your reviews are greatly appreciated. **

"I owe you a fall…"

And he dropped, plummeting down, screaming for help that would never come. It was too late. Blood splattered across the pavement. The face of Moriarty looked down with twisted pleasure.

Sherlock gasped sitting straight up in his bed. He was completely drenched in sweat and terrified.

This should not be happening, not to him, not to the great Sherlock Holmes. The Reichenbach Hero. He should not be afraid, not of a dream not of Moriarty, not of anyone or anything. But the loss of control, the complete and total helplessness that he felt in that dream frightened him more than anything he could ever imagine.

He dressed quickly and walked out into the living room of 221b as if nothing had happened. He was good at that, hiding things, suppressing them. Sometimes his façade would go so deep that he almost believed it was true.

Lately, however, he had begun to find it harder and harder to suppress things. Moriarty always had a way of creeping back up into his thoughts. It was distracting and annoying, and he wanted it to stop. He wanted to regain control.

"What's up with you lately?" asked John.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You've always been unusual but you've, never been this on edge," John explained.

"Sherlock?" he called out when Sherlock didn't respond. "Fine. Don't tell me, but don't think I don't know something's wrong with you."

"Honestly, John, I have no idea what you're talking about. There's no need for you to be so dramatic," Sherlock scoffed.

"Seriously, even you have to be bothered by how Moriarty's messing with us," insisted John.

"Me," Sherlock corrected. "He's messing with me. You have little to nothing to do with this."

"Look, if you want to go through this alone, fine, but you don't have to be such a dick to someone who just wants to help," John said as he grabbed his coat and left.

"What?" Sherlock muttered to himself. He let out a shaky breath, when he heard the sound of the door slamming shut. He couldn't let himself show any signs of weakness to anyone, especially not John. It would only lead to trouble, and if that meant he ended up pushing people away, fine, it was probably for the best anyway. He turned over on the couch and stared at the stitching until he dosed off again.

He was standing on the top of a tall building overlooking nothing. Just blackness spanned out before him. There was just the building that he was standing on, nothing else. Usually Sherlock liked being on high places. He enjoyed being able to observe everything without anyone seeing him, but now he felt nervous, scared. He could feel someone watching him but he couldn't see them and that made him feel violated.

"Hello Sherlock," a sing-song voice called out.

"Come out," Sherlock ordered. "Only cowards hide in the shadows. Come out!"

"How could I ignore such a friendly invitation," chimed Moriarty as he emerged from behind a smokestack.

"What do you want with me now?" asked Sherlock, trying his hardest to feign boredom.

"I already told you Sherlock."

And with a blind shot to the head, a blur of a coat, and a push, Moriarty had Sherlock dangled over the edge.

"I owe you a fall."

And he let go.

"SHERLOCK!" shouted John. "Sherlock! Wake up!"

"Wha-what?" Sherlock stuttered. He was breathing very shallowly as he quickly wiped his eyes.

"Sherlock, what's happened to you?" asked John carefully.

"Nothing. Nothing's happened to me," he insisted.

"No, no I know you. You've never been like this," John protested. "You've never woken up screaming in the middle of the night before. Oh yeah, I've heard you before. You're not fooling me, no matter how calm and collected you pretend to be. What was it? What happened? It couldn't have been that little girl screaming at you. Please Sherlock!"

"It's none of your business." Sherlock pushed John away.

"Fine, but if you're not going to talk to me tell someone else, please," John begged. "Look, there's this old doctor that I know. He helped me with my shoulder a few times when I got shot. He changed his practice to psychiatry, please, Sherlock, just talk to him once."

"Fine, if it'll get you to leave me alone I'll do it," Sherlock relented. "But I assure you it is a waste of time and money."

"I'll schedule an appointment for you then," John muttered almost to himself. Now he was really worried. The Sherlock he knew wouldn't just give into things that easily, especially not something like going to see a psychiatrist.

"What's his name?" asked Sherlock.

"What?"

"The psychiatrist," he spat as if the word had a bitter taste to it. "What's his name?"

"Hannibal Lecter," John replied and walked out of the room.


	2. The Appointment

Chapter Two: The Appointment

**IMPORTANT**

**This story was inspired by the amazing video by Harciczukor "Madness" which can be seen by clicking the link below**

** watch?v=be8vbdh-E4M&feature=c4-overview&list=UUTrUqio_YLy5ZSdhy5dmwxA**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the concept. Not the characters. Nothing.**

**Rated M for dark themes and violence to come later**

**A/N: Thank you for waiting so patiently. I really want this story to turn out well so I probably will not update as often as I'd like to, but I think it'll be worth it. I'm very excited to hear what you have to say, so please review. Your opinions are extremely valuable to me.**

Sherlock stood in the middle of the pale blue waiting room outside Hannibal Lecter's office. His hands in the pockets of his trench coat, as he observed the room. A variety of paintings hung on the wall. Dark leather furniture stood under a larger piece of art.

Only a day had passed since John had pressured him into going to see the psychiatrist. He apparently didn't want to give Sherlock any time to get out of it.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes," Sherlock said blandly.

"Welcome," the man replied, opening the door wider. Sherlock brushed passed him, acting as if he wasn't even there. If the man at the door minded, he didn't show it.

The office was much larger. A balcony wrapped around the room. Book shelves were covering most of the walls, which were painted both off white and blood red. A variety of furniture was dispersed about the room. Sherlock didn't sit in any of it, though. He stood in the center simply observing.

Just because Sherlock had come did not mean that he thought that this man could help him. He wasn't going to show him any sign of submission. He wanted to make a fool out of the man and his profession. He wanted to be in control.

Dr. Lecter sat down on a chair, crossed his legs, and waited. Everything was absolutely still for the next few moments. Both fighting a silent battle of wills against the other, neither was going to give the other the satisfaction of winning.

It was Sherlock who finally broke the silence.

"You grew up in somewhere in Europe, judging by your accent. Studied medicine in France based on the majority of your medical books. But you were influenced by Japanese culture at some point. You traveled to America to practice. You were a surgical doctor before changing practices, most likely in some sort of emergency facility. You were good at your job, changed of your own free will. Told people it was because of losing a patient, but that wasn't the truth. You got bored. The human body is predictable and soon becomes dull, but the mind. The mind is always different, always changing. You wanted the puzzle, the challenge that only the human mind can offer," Sherlock deduced. He felt quite smug after unveiling the doctor right in front of him and waited for the praise that nearly always followed.

But what happened next surprised Sherlock.

"Tell me about your bad dreams," Dr. Lecter said. He gave no reaction to Sherlock's performance. Nothing. Not even a flinch. It was as if he didn't hear a word Sherlock said.

"What?" asked Sherlock, slightly taken aback by the lack of response from the doctor.

"Tell me about your bad dreams," he repeated.

"Why would I tell you?"

"Mr. Holmes, I see that you hide behind a wall of observations and facts. I see that you use them to give the impression that you are never afraid or feel anything for that matter. But I can see that you do. You try to startle people with your deductions, causing them to leave you alone. Now tell me about your bad dreams," Hannibal said calmly.

"They're nothing, Dr. Watson was simply overreacting, as was I," Sherlock explained.

"Regardless, I know that John is worried about you, he said so himself. Let's do it for his sake so we can both move on, and this will have been just passing moment that we can both forget," Hannibal stated.

"I'm on a building. It's very high, but everything around it is black, and I can't see the ground. I know that someone's there, watching me, and I know who it is, but I can't see them. And when they come out, they somehow manage to get me hanging over the edge of the building," Sherlock told Hannibal. "Then I fall. That's it. Quite stupid really."

"Who is with you on the building?" asked Hannibal.

"Jim Moriarty."

"The jewel thief," commented Hannibal. "I followed the trial, very interesting."

"Very frustrating," Sherlock corrected.

"I'd imagine," Hannibal agreed. "Putting in all that effort into a case and just to have him walk free."

"Not surprising, though. He has his connections, bribes, threats," Sherlock stated blandly.

"And this is the man on the roof?" asked Hannibal.

"Yes."

"I believe that these dreams are simply a reaction to the outcome this case, quite normal, healthy even. They're nothing to worry about, make sure to tell that to John," Hannibal concluded.

With that, Sherlock left. He said nothing to the doctor, nor did Hannibal say anything to him. Not one bit of acknowledgement was given by either of them. And even though he would never admit it, Sherlock was secretly relieved.


End file.
